born for blue skies
by Moony-the-Lindt-addict
Summary: "You sound just like your godfather at your age. Of course now he's probably gone raving mad in a bloody cell for something he hasn't done…Sirius Black…But I can't see you going the same way. He was escaping purebloods, while you…you're escaping muggles..
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Born for the blue skies, we'll survive the rain...

Harry sat snugly against the window pane, his legs against his chest. Window open and the night air breeze…He loved the breeze, loved the air, love having windows –windows everywhere, god it was so liberating, years, _years_ of that bloody cupboard, of the small room of broken objects with bars so he couldn't even open the window. Locked in, stale air.

He missed the spiders a bit though. He'd lived with them ever since he was one, gotten used to them, sort of. When you got locked in a cupboard sometimes for weeks on end without being fed, you learn not to be picky about your companions. And there was nothing as entrancing and relaxing as watching a spider wave a web.

Or maybe he's just gotten completely bonkers and a tad psychotic. That was pretty much what the hat had said. "Good god," it'd whispered in his head "It's like the room of requirements in here. Isn't there anything in you that's not about everybody else? Don't you want friends? Power? Anything, anything at all, that's not about being _normal_?"

_Adventures,_ he'd thought back, _memories in my head, of adventures so if I ever get locked up again I can close my eyes and see people, taste food, and sea and skies. That and a lot of windows._

The hat had laughed –laughter in his head, wasn't that just a bit disturbing?

"You sound just like your godfather at your age. Of course now he's probably gone raving mad in a bloody cell for something he hasn't done…Sirius Black…But I can't see you going the same way. He was escaping purebloods, while you…you're escaping muggles, hard decision. You have cunning for certain, all those things in your head, but not because you want to, no, I can see it, how you're not lying to me, it really is all you want is it not. Seas and skies."

_And windows,_ Harry added in because ever since he was a kid all he'd ever wanted, all he'd ever wished for dreamed for, were windows. Well, that, green lights and flying motorcycle. And some really weird stuff about tunnels and cigars for some reason.

"Yes, yes, he said that too. Isn't that just eerie…GRIFFINDOR!" and the last word wasn't just in his head this time because people applauded and wooped and red head twins started a victory dance on a completely off tune little song.

_Sirius Black. _He'd read the name of course, but…_for a crime he hasn't committed._

That was a new one…


	2. Chapter 2

Seamus yawned and looked around, a pressing need to go to the bathroom pressing against his bladder, and he stumbled around, knocking things over on the way to the bathroom.

He squeaked as a splinching pain jolted through his toe, and a hot tear rolled down his cheek.

"Serves y'right, Shamus Finnigan," would say his gran. "I'll cure yer toe alrigh', too bad I can't cure yer idiocy. Go get me a glass o' Tullamore Dew, now will ye?"

For a second he missed home violently, then he raised his head and a muffled scream passed his lips –for a second, the pale figure in the eerie moonlight seemed a banshee to him –livid skin, wan' it? Then he recognised the hair, and breathed in relief.

"Geeze Potter, ye scared the life outta me."

"Sorry, uh…," said the boy quietly. His sea glass green eyes were shining like jade, and there was a vacantness to it that didn't help his nervousness at standing in the middle of an unfamiliar place in the middle of the night.

Seamus shivered: maybe he was a little bit banshee after all.

"S'alright," he muttured. "And…Seamus. Seamus Finnigan, that's my name."

He remembered thinking at dinner that the boy wasn't what he'd expected Harry Potter to look like –he was the petite, waifish sort, and his mussed up hair were longish, his fringe so long it practically covered his eyes, like he hadn't had a cut for ages.

Seamus didn't thing his ma' would let him stay that long without a visit to the hairdresser.

He was so pale, as well. A pretty pale, but not a healthy one like his sister's translucent skin. He looked like those types who would faint sometimes and need sugar –he thought it was a pretty cool disease, personally, but seriously, being paler than Malfoy when you weren't even blond? That didn't seem right.

Seamus could guess that it was the reason why there hadn't been a crowd at his compartment or something –the whole train had been brimming with gossip that Harry Potter was entering his first year, but none of the people who had traipsed round the bus searching for him had recognise the saviour into the languid kid with chocolate stained fingers –he certainly hadn't. And the hair covered the scar too well for anyone to recognise it because of it.

When he looked harder, Seamus could see the wizarding blood in him, o' course. His gran had told him proudly many times that James Potter had looked like his mother, Dorea Potter, nee Black, which made Harry Potter his cousin, yes sir. And she'd shown him that one photo of her and her cousin Dorea at the Christmas ball in 1927.

Potter looked crushingly like his grandmother.

A jolt down his belly reminded him why he'd bothered going out of his bed in the first place, and his eyes widened:

"Need the bathroom!" he exclaimed, scampering off as fast as a hunted deer.

Harry blinked a little, unsure whether to return to his reading or not, and ended up waiting, feeling slightly weird looking at the bathroom door so intently.

Seamus came out just as he was about to forget it and start reading again:

"Woosh…that really needed out."

For a second, bemusement flashed in the green eyes, nut it dies out almost immediately, and Seamus felt something akin to nervousness because, ultimately, he'd been expecting the dark haired boy to smile.

He cleared his throat nervously:

"Too much information?" he asked nervously, but it came out as more of a squeak.

Harry shook his head:

"Not at all."

His voice was still the same soft tone, but he wasn't whispering , or trying to be quiet for the sake of the sleepy student, he…just…talked that way…Seamus was starting to feel like there was something disturbing about the whole thing. Something that would have made sense if he were older but somehow couldn't quite grasp.

He frowned:

_I'll get it anyways, _he decided.

"Soooo…did something wake ye up?"

"Uh…No, I just…I couldn't sleep so…"

Seamus settled at an odd angle, one leg around Harry's and started babbling away.


End file.
